


Searching For A Former Clarity

by oneblacksheep



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dark Will, Hurt/Comfort, Major character death - Freeform, Nightmares, Not Really Character Death, bare with me, heavy thoughts, oddly fluffy at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 13:55:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1512959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneblacksheep/pseuds/oneblacksheep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He searches his mind for a former clarity, one he had in another life, but as possessive bite marks decorate his body, he throws those thoughts into a dark abyss of his mind he will not visit anymore. The only clarity he needs is the here and now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Searching For A Former Clarity

**Author's Note:**

> Sent something sort of like this to a friend, i couldn't remember all I wrote, so this is a variation.

He embraces Will warmly, the profiler, despite looking calm, is burning up in his arms. He holds Will close to him, being whatever the man needs him to be right now. Their friendship often surpasses any mending that words could provide, comfort became something physical, something to ground both of them, in very different ways. Hannibal's face is void of any emotion, serene and without reservation for any certain feeling. The only thing Will sees change is his eyes, a flicker, pupils dilate as breath shallowly rips from his lips.

 

 

A warming sensation pools at the younger man's groin, not of arousal. Blood and intestine spill from the slash in Hannibal's lower abdomen, covering his own body due to their close proximity. Will's pants are ruined, but not mourned, the sight before him too jovial to look upon that to be upset about the mess made.

 

Hannibal quickly found he could not smile, much to his chagrin. Feelings of small, chubby cold hands nestled in his own crowded his mind. Dark amber eyes turned to him in his mind, confused, pained,  _innocent._ Crying fills his ears, masking the silence of his lofty office. He wants to smile, to embrace the death that had manifested in him that night, the night the world died to him, but he cannot. Betrayal flashes across his eyes,  _Will._

 

Hannibal had loved many things in his life, but nothing, nor anyone, had crawled into his shell of a heart like Will Graham, his soul harboring nothing, except the dirt and bones in the grave with Mischa Lecter. His heart was all he had, and the young profiler had started fires in it like nothing else, his mind completely enveloped by the enigma of that man. His feelings teetered with his heartbeat, wanting to appreciate the darkness Will had finally embraced, wanting to congratulate Will on his reckoning, wanting to be proud, wanting to be angry, wanting to own, to defeat, to conquer death itself, wanting to grasp the intangible edges of love he felt, of complete adoration to the man letting go of his body, letting him slump to the floor.

 

Just as glass, the fragile matter of his heart begins to shatter, put into action by Will's words, feeling heartbreak on a level he had never experienced before. 

 

"There is nothing for you Hannibal. Heaven nor Hell will let you into their gates. You have no comfort of eternal pain nor eternal worship. You were my design, but I detest the sickness that radiates from you."

Hannibal crawls out of consciousness as Will's footsteps trail away. He himself fantasized of death by a beautiful mind's, such as Will's, hands. He never accounted for the utter loneliness that accompanied it all.

He follows death with a desperate lullaby, the legacy he will leave behind now means nothing. 

*

Will stares at the grime encrusted ceiling, waiting for the guards to come take him away. He had refused to plead insanity, no, this was his decision, in full consciousness. 

 

This time when he's strapped to the chair, he knows he will not come back. He knows this is not for therapy, this is not to heal, this is to end. A hum of electricity sounds through the room.

  
As the voltage increases, he feels boiling tears sear his face. His mind projects thin smiles and creased amber eyes, scenes of sunny days spent in an impressive backyard villa, lingering touches on his hands, warm fingertips tracing his face, maybe a little too friendly for doctor-patient codes, adoration filled eyes. All comforting projections crash when betrayal and pain fills those same eyes. Shattered hope, staring up at him on dark stained wooden floors, confused, lost, hurt.

 

His skin heats as he shakes, his mouth pouring frothy substance. He feels like he's hugging the surface of the sun, the only relief is the cold void in his chest, that had formed there ever since he attained his reckoning. Hannibal's name rested on his lips as he bit into his tongue, amplifying the already coppery taste there. If anyone could have heard it, they would have said it was spoken with love.

 

*

 

"Sweetheart, wake up." Will's thrashing arms and held down and his shaking body is covered by a familiar warm weight. "'Ts alright." Hannibal's words are slurred and heavily accented from sleep, Baltic rooted words of adoration and comfort are thickly whispered to the man underneath him.

 

Will finally opens his eyes, and a tense, painful breath shudders from his body, wracking his covered form. Before Will can find it in himself to apologize for waking Hannibal, he's crawling down to the man's stomach, pressing hot kisses to the broad horizontal scar just under his belly button. Hannibal becomes fully awake and alert. It is the second time in two months Will has had the same dream, the same nightmare. Hannibal makes plans to rid his love of these ailing thoughts.

 

Will is crying, and his face is full of sorrow, "I'm sorry Hannibal, I'm so sorry, I-" Hannibal is used to the onslaught of apologies from him though, and quickly silences him with a quick press of lips to the younger man's. 

 

"William, I forgave you five years ago. Five years ago, when I was dead, and you saved me," Hannibal thinks to add the fact that Will was the one to kill him, meaning it in humor, but changes his mind before he forms the words, "five years ago, when I awoke on a hospital bed, with you, red eyed from crying, holding my hand as if I'd go somewhere if you let go. Five years ago when I made you retell me your thoughts, what went through your head, when I found it in myself to see that you meant it, when you clasped your hands together and bowed at my feet, praying to me for forgiveness." 

 

Will stared wide eyed at Hannibal, feeling the warmth and comfort the man radiated, relaxing into the hands holding him to make eye contact. "And I gave into feelings that had been long dormant, four years ago, when I presented you with two plane tickets, and you presented me with the most primal of human emotion. Four years ago, when we laded in Italy, and made our home in Florence." Hannibal had Will trying to hide a smile now, and only continued, in a much lighter voice. "Four years ago, when you wouldn't let me leave the house for weeks, making me a slave to the pleasures you offered to me so freely." Hannibal rolled on top of Will, holding the young man's hands above his head on the pillows, leaning down, placing biting kisses all across his neck. "Still now, and I know even forever, how you keep me chained to your love, and I delight in every moment of it. Even when your dreams are haunted by the very things that brought us here. 

"There is no need to apologize, dear Will," Hannibal speaks in Italian now, knowing Will would understand him after many lessons he received in those first few years. "I know your mind just as well as you know mine, you wonder often if you are worthy of my love and I tell you, my dear, you are, you always have been, and you always will be."

 

Will's eyes close in ecstasy as Hannibal claims his entirety with his mouth, marking him in the most sinfully delicious ways. He searches his mind for a former clarity, one he had in another life, but as possessive bite marks decorate his body, he throws those thoughts into a dark abyss of his mind he will not visit anymore. The only clarity he needs is the here and now.

 

 


End file.
